Deadman's Lament (The Deadman Series Book 1) Page 17

  The flies rose and fell in black waves. Two oxen lay dead in their traces by a smoking ruin that was once a covered wagon; the tarp covering it was nothing but charred rags now flapping bleakly. A small burro was splay-legged by the back of the wagon, its head and neck blackened and leathery from the flames that killed it. Dresses, petticoats, men’s britches, cookware, old newspapers, tack, farm implements…all signs of living were strewn about like rubbish.

  Staring at the man spread-eagled on the ground, Matthew saw that he held a sheaf of money notes in his hand.

  The man had tried to give this money—probably all he had—to the ones who threatened him and his family. But Matthew knew this was a message from Top Hat for, staring past the body on the ground, the sheriff saw a battered hat hanging on a stick placed close to the fire. It was filthy and skewed yet had once been handsome headgear before this villain carried out his worst work; a beaver-skin stovepipe like the one Abraham Lincoln wore was now a symbol of slaughter.

  The rage in Matthew’s chest burst out of his mouth in an uncontrollable roar and his horse skipped in place again, unsure of what posed the biggest threat: the bodies on the ground; the birds that thrashed and whined like a single entity; or the rider it carried.

  Suddenly, a lone coyote ran out from under the burned-out wagon where it had sought refuge and had nowhere else to go but straight ahead. It zipped past Matthew’s horse and the nervous animal finally succumbed to fear, rearing up with a squeal of alarm.

  Matthew—who was just about to step down to the ground—found himself flying through the air and landing hard on a heavy steel anvil. He heard his ribs break and cried out in dismay even as all his breath whooshed out of his lungs. His cry cut off in a strangled yelp and he lay broken and bleeding on the ground.

  He saw swirling whimsies of light and his ears rang like a church bell but when he turned his head to look over at Roy, Matthew came face to face with the dead boy who had met his end at Top Hat’s hand.

  The boy was close to the same age he was when he had run afoul of the criminal and but for the grace of God, he could have been raped and ruined just like this young innocent with ginger hair and lifeless blue eyes.

  “Sheriff! Are you busted up bad?” Roy leaned over him and Matthew turned his head away from the dead boy’s gaze.

  Matthew grimaced in pain and commenced to checking his own mortal coil. He moved his fingers and toes, lifted both legs and shook his head gently back and forth. Sighing in relief, he knew that he was not paralyzed but the agony in his ribs and lower back was excruciating.

  Glancing one last time at the little boy’s face, he said, “I will survive but this burial is going to have to wait. I hate to leave these folks like this but the job has just become too much for me.”

  Staring at the wagon, Matthew saw that its wheels seemed undamaged. Gasping, he said, “Roy hitch two of the horses, please. Looks like I’m going to need a lift into town.”

  Chapter 28

  The World is a Stage

  Roy helped Matthew to his feet and led him toward a wood stump set away from the fire. The sheriff gritted his teeth against the pain but, even though they walked slowly, the gorge rose up in his throat until he finally bent over and vomited on some nearby sagebrush.

  “You got at least a couple of busted ribs, Sheriff, and you’re cut up too,” Roy muttered as he led a trembling Matthew to the stump.

  “Reckon you’re right, Roy. There is a medical kit in my saddlebags…could you fetch it for me?” Roy was already walking toward Matthew’s horse. The gelding had wandered off a ways after he threw his rider and now eyed the approaching deputy with distrust.

  “Whoa there, son…whoa,” he crooned and the horse settled down, taking a mouthful of prairie grass. Roy rummaged around, found the medical kit and almost stumbled when his boots got tangled up in a long, white petticoat on the ground.

  Staring down at the offending garment, Roy pondered for a moment and then picked it up before moving to Matthew’s side. The sheriff was sitting up straight but his head was laid back on his shoulders. Face to the sun, Matthew wore a little smile and he murmured, “I’ve come up with an idea, Roy.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Roy asked, handing the sheriff a pinch of ground poppy powder. “Well, why don’t you fill me in while I see what’s what with this wound of yours?”

  Roy peeled off Matthew’s vest and pulled his shirt over his head; the sheriff hissed with pain as the sticky red thing stuck to the cut on his back.

  The deputy sat on his heels and whistled. “Holy shit, Matthew! I don’t think you could have found a worse place to fall off your horse if you tried!”

  “Alright, Roy. Point taken. What’s the verdict?”

  Roy splashed some water from his canteen down Matthew’s back, trying to wash the blood and dirt away from a six-inch tear on the man’s lower ribcage.

  “Oh, the cut is fairly minor. More of a deep scrape than anything. I would guess two or three ribs are broken.” Matthew gasped as Roy probed the area. “Just let me clean it as much as possible and then wrap you up tight.” Handing Matthew the petticoat, he added, “Do you think you could tear this thing into strips for me?”

  When Roy was done, Matthew stood up feeling as though he was wearing a corset but he could breathe now without wanting to weep with agony.

  Roy packed up the medical kit and put it back in his saddlebags while Matthew pulled on his heavy gloves and started knocking away pieces of the wagon’s bonnet hoops. Although the potent medicine had taken some of the edge off the pain in his ribs, he moved gingerly and what he could not remove with a mallet, Roy kicked away with his boots.

  Then the two men emptied the wagon of the previous owner’s personal effects and filled it up with their own belongings. They also wrestled two large wooden crates of china and silverware into the bed; their saddles, gear, ammunition and guns took up the rest of the space.

  Matthew was panting with exhaustion and Roy made him a comfortable pallet behind the makeshift barricade.

  “Boss, you’re a Tom turkey. That’s a fact, but I can’t take them bandits all by myself. Why don’t you lie down and get some rest while I drive this wagon into town?”

  Matthew nodded. “Sounds good although I’m not tired. I’ll just sit up against these blankets and show you the alternate route into Granville. I’m pretty sure it’s about fifteen miles north of here.”

  “Okay, Boss…here, let me help you.” After heaving Sheriff Wilcox into the wagon, Roy lifted his long, gingham skirt in a curtsy, tipped his sunbonnet and hopped onto the driver’s bench.

  Three hours later, Matthew and Roy crouched on the crest of a small hill and gazed down into the streets of Granville. There were only two streets and nine buildings that made up Matthew’s hometown: the sheriff’s office; the livery; a restaurant/bakery; two saloons; the laundry/bathhouse; two churches; and the mercantile/post office.

  There was a smattering of houses on the east end of town and a large livestock barn and corral at the west entrance. Matthew could not see anyone on the streets except for two men who seemed to be walking back and forth on guard or sentry duty. Even without looking properly, Matthew could tell that his town was besieged.

  He got up and walked back to the wagon, fishing around for Jon’s telescope. Every step he took and every breath that filled his lungs sent bolts of pain throughout his body but there was no helping that now. He needed to get a good look before he committed himself or his deputy to a course of action.

  Walking slowly back to where Roy hid in some high weeds, Matthew knelt by his side. Glassing slowly over the entire town, he now saw the men patrolling the boardwalk on Main Street, plus four others stationed at each end.

  He paused as something else caught his attention. Aiming the telescope high, Matthew’s breath caught in his throat as he spied four bodies hanging on the high crosspieces of an archway leading into the livestock yard. “Goddammit,” he moaned softly.

  “What is it, Matthew?” Roy
whispered.

  “Hold on a minute,” Matthew replied as he took in the awful sight. Christopher Rundell, the grocer; Archie Almquist, the cobbler; little Maggie, the baker’s daughter; and Deputy Murray Kotes were all hanging by the neck in front of the municipal barn.

  It looked like Top Hat had raped and slit the throat of the young girl…her long skirt and apron were covered in blood. This was nothing more than insult added to injury and Matthew could almost see red tongues of fury flare up in his peripheral vision. Turning away before he broke down and wept in sorrow and pity, he handed the telescope to Roy who began to swear in shared rage.

  “Hey, isn’t that your wolf?” he asked, passing the eyeglass back to the sheriff.

  Matthew seized the telescope and searched for his pet. Then he saw that it was Maggie’s…a mongrel named Muffin that had adopted the girl last winter when she fed him scraps from the bakery during the long snows. The scruffy, old dog crept up to the wooden fence rails and stared up at her body where she hung by the neck about six feet above.

  Lifting his muzzle, Muffin howled a lament into the gray, hazy sky. Then one of Top Hat’s crew threw a handful of rocks at the dog. A stone hit its mark, Muffin yelped, and took off running back down the street.

  Gazing at the wide barn doors, Matthew thought he saw movement in the darkened interior; he made a slight adjustment and saw a flash of red. Iris appeared in the doorway and yelled something at the two men standing guard. It was obvious she was hurling some insult or other because one of the men—a scar faced Mexican with silver Conchos sewn up and down his pants legs and vest—lifted his rifle and aimed it in her direction.

  “No!” Matthew breathed as sweat beaded his brow. Then he saw hands seize the widow Imes from behind and pull her backward out of sight.

  Heart hammering in fear, Matthew finally understood that he was in love with Iris and had been for years. But there had always been too many things in the way for his heart to let loose to hers…his burning need for revenge, guilt, and worry over his childhood friend Marie. Yet having seen the fiery beauty stand up to the gangsters and almost get shot only served to remind him that he had more to fight for than mere vengeance.

  Turning to Roy he said, “We need to get a move on. Are you still up for this?”

  Roy nodded. “Hell yes, Matthew. Goddamn their hides! This comes to an end now!”

  The men crouched in the weeds about a quarter of a mile from the edge of town. At the foot of the hill ran a tiny stream with a handmade wooden bridge where many folks went to picnic or fish. More importantly, the little bridge was concealed behind a stand of weeping willows. Matthew knew, if he had to, he could shoot any one of the bandits from that distance.

  Meanwhile, Roy planned on doing the same from the other side of town. All he had to do was make his way from here to there in one piece. That was why both Matthew and his deputy wore dresses and bonnets. Though Matthew was too tall and muscular to pull off the acting job very well, Roy was a smaller man and just over 165 pounds.

  With any luck, Roy would saunter over the bridge with his umbrella and reticule in hand, looking for all the world like a lady out for a stroll. Yet too much depended upon good timing and Matthew’s heart pounded in his chest as Roy strapped another rifle to his left leg and his two pistols under a dirty gray shawl.

  Both men carried every weapon they owned tied to their bodies and hidden under the women’s clothes. Matthew would go down off the hillside first and scout the area so that Roy could make his way across the footbridge and into the residential area of town.

  “You ready?” Matthew whispered.

  Nodding, Roy said, “Good luck, Sheriff.”

  “Thanks, Roy. I’ll watch your back.”

  Then Matthew turned and made his way slowly down the hill. Although the little incline was too far away for any of the bandits to get off a shot, he prayed no one could actually see him and give the game away. He had no doubt he and his deputy could kill a few outlaws if it came to a shoot-out but Matthew wanted to take all of them out of commission forever and free the hostages before dispatching Top Hat for good.

  Reaching the bottom of the hill, he crouched in the meadow grass about twenty-five feet away from the creek. His heart thundered in his chest and he waited for a bullet to come whizzing by or a warning shout to rise in the still afternoon air but, so far, it seemed as if his presence had gone undetected. He crawled on his belly the rest of the way until he knew the tree’s fronds hid him. After a few moments, Matthew turned around and gave Roy the all-go signal.

  The Spokane County deputy stepped out from where he had been hiding and strolled down the hill as if he didn’t have a care in the world. If Matthew weren’t so sad and nervous, he would have laughed at Roy’s antics. Perhaps the young deputy made a study of women and how they walked as Matthew knew that, to anyone who didn’t know better, Roy would be mistaken for a young girl returning home from some outing or tryst by the river. The gingham skirt he wore swung enticingly and the parasol over his left shoulder twirled gaily in the sunshine.

  As Matthew waited for a shot to ring out, Roy strolled across the bridge and up the pathway that led into town. Then he darted quickly behind one of the nicer houses and let himself in the back door.

  Matthew finally allowed himself a grin; Roy had just succeeded in bringing their arsenal into Granville. Now all he had to do was crawl through the high grass and join his friend in the battle over Matthew’s hometown and the people he had sworn to protect.

  Chapter 29

  A Sad Reunion

  Matthew commenced to crawling on his belly. His ribs pained him and he wished he had taken another pinch of the poppy but knew that he needed to keep his wits about him. Just a little too much medicine would dull his senses and make him draw too slowly or miss entirely if push came to shove.

  He was almost to the fence line of Madeline Forsyth’s house when he heard masculine voices. He froze, pressing himself into the ground and listening to the men speak. It was remarkable how well their voices carried in the still afternoon air. Perhaps it was because the usual clamor of everyday life was absent or maybe it was the storm front moving in from the west that made every word the men said carry.

  Peering through the weeds, Matthew saw two men pause in front of the house. They had stopped walking and stood on the road rolling cigarettes. The sheriff knew, if either one of them glanced in his direction, he would be spotted. Out in the meadow—among the weeds and rocks—his beige bonnet and long skirts might have blended into the landscape as long as he did not move. Where he lay now, though, his clothes stood out like a sore thumb.

  Matthew took his pistol in hand and readied himself to shoot. But the two men turned away and stared back down the road; their conversation made his heart skip a beat.

  “Boss is feeling pretty bloody, eh?” one of the men asked.

  The other agreed. “Yeah. Glad to be away from him right now, truth be told.”

  “What do you think this whole thing is about anyway? This town is poor. Don’t even have a bank!”

  To which the second man replied, “Oh, I don’t reckon this is about money. I hear this is a blood feud. Boss says as soon as the sheriff comes back, we’ll kill him and torch the whole damn town.”

  Matthew bared his teeth in fury. We will just see about that! He thought, rising to his feet in order to run behind the house. The pain of it made him see stars for a second and then he ran in a crouch until he clung to the clapboards by the back door. He was in a vulnerable position as, if the crooks decided to use the privy, he would be found and a shoot-out would ensue.

  He also knew he could not open the screen door and go inside the house because it screeched like a banshee. Therefore, he slowly made his way around and crept through the yard until he was on the opposite corner of the home from where the men loitered.

  Keeping one eye on the outhouse and another trained on the road in front, Matthew waited. Glancing to his left, he saw a curtain twitch in the house w
here Roy sought shelter. He wanted to reconnoiter with the deputy but knew the two bandits needed to leave before he dared abandon his post.

  A few tension-filled moments passed when wasps from a papery nest in the rafters above his head explored his bonnet but then Matthew saw the men walking away toward the middle of town. Staring into the distance as a few drops of rain from the incoming storm dotted the dust and dry grass under his feet, Matthew saw them meet up with two other strangers in front of his office.

  All four men turned as one, studied something in front of the sheriff’s office and then parted company. The two who had paused for a smoke went west, the two others stepped back inside the building. Knowing that now was as safe a time as any, Matthew fell to his knees and crawled on the ground behind a low picket fence to within ten feet of where Roy hid.

  There were a few peach and apple trees in the yard, some of them heavy with fruit. Matthew wriggled under the pickets and found himself squirming through fallen, overripe peaches. The pulp squished under his hands and stained his skirts as he made his way to the back stoop.

  Looking up, he saw Roy standing just inside the door. “Hurry up, Boss! They’re heading this way again!”

  Matthew ran into the house. Once inside and blinking through the gloom, a happy sight met his eyes. Young Bob Higgins stood by the cold woodstove, wringing his oversized hat in his hands. Bandit whined happily, stood up on his back legs and showered Matthew’s face with wet licks.

  “Bandit,” Matthew whispered as he hugged the animal, “you’re a good boy. A very good boy.” Looking over at Bob, he said, “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Bob looked miserable and bent his hat in his hands again. “Sir, I got some bad news.”

  Matthew’s glad heart shriveled a little in his chest. He held his hands up though and murmured, “Hold up a minute with your news, Bob. I got to get out of these clothes.”

  Roy had taken off the women’s clothing and Matthew did the same, trying to avoid the peachy pulp as much as possible. Shawl, bonnet and skirt flew into a pile in the corner of the room where Bandit followed, sniffing at the mess.